


Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

by LostMe



Series: Here comes the sun [4]
Category: Hotel Transylvania (Movies)
Genre: English is not my native language, F/M, all love stories are tragic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostMe/pseuds/LostMe
Summary: All Dracula was left with was to try to keep his family safe. So he kept trying.Sequel to "I feel the ice is slowly melting".





	Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

**Author's Note:**

> I know it has been an unforgivably long time.

There were good nights. Nights when  Dracula, exhausted from his activities on the hotel, would arrive at their bedroom to find Martha at the loveseat, looking through the wall, seeing something that only she could see. But there was tranquility in her unseeing eyes those nights. That was everything he could ask for nowadays. He would sit with little Mavis at Martha’s feet and read horror stories. Mavis always smiled and then giggled when her father made funny voices. Martha barely blinked. No recognition in her eyes. Hours later, Dracula would wake with Mavis asleep on his lap, while he himself had fallen asleep on Martha’s feet. A few times, so very few, what would wake the Prince of Darkness was the sensation of Martha’s fingers on his hair. Although the profound sorrow caused by the lack of recognition on his wife’s face, Dracula tried to convince himself that he was lucky she was alive, that he was lucky he still had Mavis. That he, an eternal being, still had his eternal family at his side.

He tried.

And then there were bad nights. Nights when Martha would not stop yelling, would not stop crying. Nights in which the presence of Dracula or Mavis would torture Martha, who in turn would become wild, violent. These nights the only thing Dracula could do was to take Mavis to the roof and sing silly terror songs to her until the very minutes before dawn. Some days he would fall asleep in Mavis bedroom, more days than not he would be unable to fall asleep at all.

These nights Dracula tried harder.

And there were nights when Martha would not stop crying, and then Mavis would start crying and the only thing Dracula could do to not collapse was to ask Wanda, Eunice or, frankly, anybody, to play with Mavis so he could fly far, far away. So far that he would stop hearing either Martha’s or Mavis’ real sobs, to hear only the echo engraved on his mind. So far that he would be able to yell louder than the memories. Far enough that nobody would question his hoarse voice.

These nights Dracula would ask himself why he was even trying.

It was always Mavis face that would remind him of the motive. Mavis was so pure, so innocent, that in the end, Dracula preferred to hide instead of declaring war. With time Dracula was not feared anymore… He was almost…  Almost respected. Because any monster in the world knew that Dracula had built a safe place for himself to hide and that he would gladly accept anyone who needed shelter.

They came. And Dracula saw Mavis growing up not understanding why so many monsters were afraid of the outside world. He saw Mavis not understanding why her parents were so very sad. Or why he was so angry about the sand in the lobby, or why he would yell at the werewolves puppies and never at her for destroying the mobile. Not when he was always playing with her, using pathetic baby language and funny nicknames – but never, never her real name, too afraid to cause a compulsion to even think her full name in her presence.

And as time passed… The nights were neither good nor bad. In these, Mavis would come and persuade her father to go hunting scorpions and before he knew it he would be flying in the night with abandon. More nights than not, Dracula’s friends would come and there would be so much inanity on their discourses that Dracula could o little else besides being amused by their antics. There were nights he would be simply too busy to ever think if it was a good or a bad day.

There were nights Frank would simply squeeze him so hard and his lean body looked so small and thin against the golem’s that his sorrow would look small, too.

The sunsets were different, though.

Every afternoon, just as sleep was leaving his mind to consciousness, he would have to adjust to a new reality. It was hard.

Sometimes, he would dream that night, so few decades ago, has never happened, and he was still with Martha, both living in the Lubov castle. They would laugh and cry and proudly observe Mavis taking her first flight. In these dreams, when Mavis asked about zings, they would share a tender look and it would be Martha who would tell their daughter about a hot night in Hawaii. And Mavis would marvel at the possibility of finding her own zing and all the possibilities of the life of an immortal being.

Other nights, he would dream that when he woke up, Martha was already dust being carried by the wind. In these dreams, he would have created Mavis all alone. In these dreams, Mavis would not have questioned why her mother was always so sad. In these dreams, she would ask to go outside, she would ask to go to play, but she would never have witnessed the deep angst her father exuded when he looked at his wife. In these dreams, she would not have to question what was the worth of a zing, because all the stories Dracula would tell began with a hot night in Hawaii and ended with a love so big for Mavis that Martha’s body could not handle it. In these dreams, Mavis would believe her mother had loved her very much and would never question what had she made wrong.

Whatever the dream, adjusting to his reality was always hard. He kept trying. 


End file.
